(RusAme) ~ Roommates ~ (CountryHumans)

twèńtÿ šêvēñ

haha wow it didnt take me a whole month to update again!!

hey so just know when i say 'freshman,' im referencing their freshman year of high school (9th grade), not their freshman year of college, which they're in now

also that part of the essay russia was writing last chapter was not supposed to mean anything, im not trying to foreshadow, i was literally just making stuff up (but at the same time,, it kind of still applies to the story,,. so....)

and ummmmmmm their character personalities are pretty inconsistent, sorry

Yeah, digging around in other people's stuff wasn't really the most respectful thing to do, but Russia saw no reason in pretending that he had suddenly developed morals. And anyways, it was America's own fault for leaving his closet drawers wide open.

Fuck, that argument he had with America an hour ago was still bothering him more than it should've been. But he supposed sort-of snooping was better than trashing your roommate's stuff, which Russia was really tempted to do.

He wasn't that bad of a person though. He would imagine doing it, but probably never actually do it. Too many repercussions.

Russia glanced in one of the open drawers. Just some shirts, a few brandname ones and others with shitty memes printed on them. None of them were folded.

Pushing that drawer in a little, Russia inspected the contents of the drawer below the top one. Would it really kill America to push them shut once in a while? Nearly every single one was ajar.

Well, it never seemed like neatness was America's top priority. It seemed like the most important thing to him was annoying the shit out of Russia as much as possible, and getting on every single one of his nerves.

Russia took a slow breath and exhaled, eyes sliding over a few knickknacks and books, the top one reading Where's Waldo? The Fantastic Journey in large colored letters. It sounded childish to Russia.

Maybe I'm the childish one for going through Meri's stuff, Russia thought, eyes heavy with boredom. He hadn't really found anything he could use against America -- wait, since when was that his intention?

Mentally shrugging, Russia used his knee to give the open drawer a small shove, closing it halfway. He would've started his little 'investigation' with looking under his roommate's bed, but that was probably where America kicked his dirty underwear or something. Russia didn't need to see that.

He moved onto the next drawer, which was adjacent to the first one he had looked in. This one wasn't open as much as the others, but Russia peeked in anyways. It just looked like a lot of little cylinders. He pulled the drawer open a bit more so he could see the contents more clearly.

It was a bunch of prescription bottles, some orange and semi-opaque, and others white with a tiny medicinal label around the center. Most seemed to be empty. A few rolled around when he jostled the drawer.

Russia vaguely wondered why America didn't throw the empty bottles away as he stuck a hand in the drawer and knocked some of the bottles around, checking for any other items. Some of the little canisters rattled.

Nope, nothing else in there. Just medication.

Taking his hand out, Russia moved on, checking the drawer beneath the top one. What kind of medication was America on? It must've been something unusual for him to hide his prescriptions in his closet and not put the pills with the other medicine in the medicine cabinet above the sink.

Seemed like it was the kind of stuff you were supposed to take daily, too. Russia scoffed. It was pathetic for a world superpower to rely so much on drugs.